Bartender with Benefits

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Bartender with Benefits Page 52

by Mickey Miller


  I nod as we stroll down the quad. “You got me there. A big head for big brains. Thank God I have the money for these custom fitted hats,” I say, switching my baseball cap around to wear it backwards.

  “I have some news,” Liam says. “I need to tell someone. I figure since you’re my brother, you’re forced to listen.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nods, almost gravely. My brother’s not one to get serious--he almost never says a straight line. So I listen while he tells me about how he’s falling for a girl.

  Well, fell is a better word. But their relationship, if you could call it that, leaves me flabbergasted.

  “Let me get this straight,” I say, holding up a hand. Both dogs turn and look at me, as if they realize I’m about to make a very important proclamation. “You had a one-night stand. With a client.”

  He shrugs. “When you put it like that, it seems wrong. I was helping her out. She was in a tough spot.”

  “So you...gave her a hand?” I wink. “Did you get her engine up and running?”

  “Hey,” Liam barks back. “This is my love you are talking about here. Be careful. And of course I did. She was up and purring in no time. The engine, I mean. The engine was purring.”

  I toss my head back in laughter. My brother is an asshole and a lady killer. I’m honestly a little surprised to hear him talking about a girl like he’s talking about Haley. But I guess even the Liam’s of the world have to settle down sometime.

  “What about you, big bro?” he asks. “You gonna settle down sometime soon?”

  The question catches me a little off guard. I run my hand along my jawline and we start walking again.

  “Me?” I scoff. “I don’t have time for a woman. You know that. It would end badly.”

  “What, because you’re ‘building your empire?’”

  “Yes,” I nod.

  Liam shrugs as we turn down another part of the University quad. “Man, I got news for you: that empire you always dreamed about: it’s built now. Look around, man! Who donated the money for the new Art Center for Blackwell U?”

  I shrug. “I did.”

  “Right. Man, whose nonprofit did we pick up these dogs at? You own this town. What else do you want?”

  “Maybe I’m just not the kind of guy who’s meant to have a long-term relationship,” I say. “Flings are more my thing. Man, what the hell, just at the beginning of the summer you were talking about how great being single was, and how you’d never settle down. What changed?”

  Liam swallows, looks me in the eye. “Haley.”

  I nod, and I understand what he means by that. “Well, I guess I just haven’t found my Haley yet,” I say.

  Liam shrugs. “Hey man, maybe you’re not. Maybe you’ll never find her. I get it, I’ve been there. But I can tell you from personal experience--that shit happens when you are least looking for it. You don’t even have any candidates?”

  I chuckle. “No, I don’t have any--”

  I stop myself, because the word candidates makes me think of résumé. And résumé makes me think of my recent hires.

  And that leads me to the girl who I’ve been doing my damnedest not to flirt with at work.

  Brett Blue.

  “Awww shit,” Liam drawls. “I know that face! Big brother’s got a crush. Yes he does, doesn’t he, Shiloh?” He bends down and pets the dog furiously, and Shiloh leans in, clearly loving it. “Goddamn this dog is awesome! I just might have to bring him home with me. So who’s the lucky girl?”

  “There is no girl.” I try to say the words in a serious voice, but they come out weird.

  “Ha! Dude, you act like I haven’t known you since you were born.”

  “I was born before you,” I smirk.

  “Okay, twenty-eight years. You’re twenty-nine now, right?”

  I chuckle. “Come on, you don’t know your own brother’s age.”

  Liam looks a little flustered. He continues. “The point is I know when to call bullshit on my own brother. And I call bullshit. You sound like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix.” Liam whips off his sunglasses, feigns holding a utensil in front of his eyes, and says in his best Keanu Reeves voice. “There is no spoon.”

  “Fuck you, man. Fine. You want to know? We have this new girl...and I can’t get her off my mind. She’s a whip-smart new hire from outside the city limits. Something about her, man. She drives me nuts. Every interaction we have, I’m like ‘is she flirting with me? Or is this just coincidence.”

  “Please, bro. Give me the down low.”

  “Her name is Brett Blue.” I start to say something else, but Liam holds up a hand.

  “Wait a second. Her name is Brett? That’s not even close to a girl’s name.”

  “It’s her dad’s middle name, and she used to be quite a tomboy. Anyways, yesterday I stopped by her desk and she was acting weird. I couldn’t put my finger on how, exactly. Then she dropped a pen right at my feet, and when she picked it up, she stole a cock glance.”

  Liam’s jaw drops. “She stole a look at the Blackwell family jewels?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re sure of it.”

  “I think so, man. Fuck, who knows. Maybe I imagined it.”

  “If she did--bro--she likes you. No doubt about it. Damn, I’m gonna have to look this girl up. New hire eh? So...why don’t you just ask her out?”

  I smile, because I envy Liam’s simple solution-making. “Dude, it’s not that simple. I run a billion-dollar company. I can't just go around asking my employees out. I have a reputation to uphold. That might be okay in the auto shop, but we have an HR department. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, you know?”

  Liam runs a hand through his hair. “I see your point. Shit man, I don’t know. Just look for the signals. She’ll probably leave you an opening if she wants you.”

  “That’s what she said.” I wink, and Liam tosses his head back in laughter.

  “Ahh, you motherfucker. See, what do you need my help for? You got this covered. Ain’t that right, Shiloh?”

  The dog turns and looks back at us, and I swear he winks at me.

  I can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad omen.

  9

  Brett

  Monday morning, I make a new discovery about having a ‘real’ office job:

  Unscheduled Monday morning meetings are the worst.

  I sit and nod as my manager Bob flips through the power point, briefing the team on slides of the different areas around Blackwell that we are focusing our strategy on buying up. Having lived here all my life, I could be up there presenting and probably doing a better job than Bob.

  Instead, I’m sitting at the last possible seat of the long, boardroom table, and not listening to one word of Bob’s monotone voice.

  I squint toward the front of the room and nod, feigning attention, while I write down notes on my note pad.

  Except none of my notes have anything to do with the PowerPoint. Instead, I’m wondering how Lacy is going to hook up with her boss Zane now that they’ve broken the ice.

  I glance around the boardroom. There are plenty of fun places to do it in here.

  Lacy’s fingers pressed against the glass as he does her from behind. Ohh yeah.

  Bent over on the desk. Also from behind.

  Hmm. I need some variation. Zane’s a jacked boss, so he’ll have no problem scooping her up and setting her on the desk and doing her normal-style. Yes, not quite missionary, because she’s sitting and he’s standing.

  Is that what that’s called? Just ‘normal-style?’ Seems like there ought to be a better word for it.

  Better word for ‘normal-style’ I jot down on my notepad.

  What else could they do? Well with how dominant Zane is, I imagine he’d want to have his way with Lacy and own every inch of her. He’d probably want to finger fuck her on her back while her head hangs off the table.

  But is Lacy ready for that? She’s definitely a dirty girl, but only with the right man
.

  Zane needs to earn that, I decide, and jot down another note.

  Dirtier later

  How realistic is it that they would really hook up in a place like this big boardroom and not get caught? The frosted glass starts about two feet above the floor. Lacy and Zane definitely can’t do any fucking on the floor unless the office is totally empty.

  I bite my lower lip. Wow, the ideas are really flowing today. Why is that?

  I swallow, because I certainly know why.

  Sebastian Blackwell. I can’t get him off my mind. How would he be with a girl like Lacy? Lacy is just his type, the way I’ve described her in the book so far. She’s secretly an Instagram model, with a perfect hourglass figure, like the girl that Crystal showed me. Sebastian would take her straight away, he wouldn’t wait to be dirty with her. During their first encounter, I bet he’d rip her panties right off, bend her over, and take her like it was his last.

  A wave of heat comes over me as I let my imagination run wild for just a second. Sebastian bending her over, fucking her, slapping her ass cheeks with his hand while he thrusts into her, slapping her with his strong hips.

  Except in the fantasy, Lacy disappears for a moment.

  I appear.

  I don’t want anyone else being with Sebastian.

  I want him all to myself.

  “Miss Blue. Miss Blue?” a voice says, sounding far away.

  Holy shit. I space in and realize Bob’s calling my name.

  “Yes?”

  “Wondering what you thought about the question I just asked you,” Bob says condescendingly, crossing his arms.

  My face warms and turns bright red. I have no clue what Bob is asking me, and the entire room is staring at me.

  “Well, I uh.” I clear my throat.

  A deep voice cuts me off from behind me.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s almost ten a.m. I think we had better wrap it up.”

  Sebastian glances at his watch and then back at the rest of us.

  Was he standing behind me the entire time?

  Bob seems annoyed, like he was hoping to call me out in front of everyone.

  “Let’s hit the floor people!” Sebastian says with a smile. “I want to hear some dials. Let’s drum up some business today. We have a lot of work to do this week.”

  Sebastian claps his hands a few times and starts talking to another employee in the vicinity. Bob huffs toward me, clearly unhappy. Before I can close my notepad, he zooms in and slaps his palms down on one of the pages.

  “Let’s see what kind of notes you were taking. Maybe I can help you.”

  My heart about jumps up to my throat. I feel like I’m a girl about to be thrown in detention, not someone with a mature full-time job.

  “No, didn’t really take any,” I say, and attempt to close my notebook. Instead, Bob takes it from me and looks at it up close.

  I’d giggle if I weren’t so worried what Bob will say about my notes, which I’m sure make no sense to him. As I suspect, he rubs a forefinger and thumb on his forehead as he tries to make sense of what I wrote.

  “‘Better word for normal-style?’” he reads out loud, and his eyes dart to mine. His face is full of confusion. “What on Earth does that mean?”

  I shrug. “Just something I was thinking about.”

  “‘Dirtier...later?’ Okay now that one you’re gonna have to explain to me.”

  I stand up, nervously looking up to Bob. He’s heavyset, and not really intimidating, but the fact that he’s got the power exasperates me. “I was just writing, if I ever have a meeting with one of the farmers later in the day, they are going to be covered in more dirt. So we should take that into account if we’re heading out to a farm site.”

  Bob scratches the side of his thinning head of hair. “That’s what you were thinking about during this meeting?”

  Sebastian, as if by sixth sense, notices the tension in the air, and calmly wheels around after ending his conversation with the other employee.

  “Bob. Brett. Everything alright here?”

  “No, everything's not alright,” Bob emphasizes. “Look at these notes she’s taking.” He hands him my notebook, and again, I feel like my work is being passed from teacher to principal.

  “Hmm. Interesting. Bob, why don’t you head outside? I’ll take care of this.”

  Bob shoots me a smug look like he won, and heads outside, leaving Sebastian and I alone in the big boardroom.

  My gaze shoots to his big hands as he hands the notebook back to me. “Truthfully, I don’t give a fuck what you write in here if you’re closing deals,” he says, and shakes his head a little bit. “I’ll be honest, I am curious what those notes mean. But I’m not worried about it. All of the greatest CEOs and geniuses wrote weird notes to themselves.”

  “Are you telling me I’m a genius?”

  “You’re quite smart, Brett. That much is evident to anyone with half a brain. You’ve got the brains, and the beauty.”

  I swallow. “Thank you.”

  “It’s a deadly combination in sales. I expect a lot out of you. And hey, you let me know about Bob. If he’s getting too out of it. He’s going through a divorce--tough time for him.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Keep it on the downlow. Alright, anyways, I’ll see you later...dirtier.” He winks.

  “Excuse me?”

  He chuckles. “Your note. Dirtier later.”

  “Ohh!” I cackle, apparently having the memory of a dog. It’s not my fault that I practically wilt in front of this man.

  Sebastian swallows, and I wonder what it would be like to be dirtier--now--with him.

  We head to the front of the room, and there just happens to be a basket full of Now and Laters on the edge of the table. “What’s your favorite flavor?” Sebastian asks, pulling out a couple.

  “Cherry,” I say.

  “Here you go,” he says, tossing one at me.

  He turns off the lights as we head out the door, and I pop the cherry taffy into my mouth.

  The next day, I close my first deal, buying a property to the east of Blackwell. Convincing the man wasn’t hard once he knew I was a local and I wasn’t trying to gyp him, just offer him a fair price to help him retire. I turn the deal over to our legal team, and there’s suddenly an air of awe from the people around me. Even Bob is impressed.

  “No one has ever closed a property deal in their first month,” Bob comes over and tells me, his eyes wide with wonder.

  I shrug. “They have now.”

  I beam with some pride, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have been able to sell those properties if I weren’t Brett Blue’s daughter. Every call I make, when they ask me who I am, I don’t say “Brett from Blackwell Industries,” I just say “Brett Blue,” and they open up to me in ways they’d never open up to some of my colleagues, a few of whom are transplants from nearby big cities.

  Since I’ve got my big sale out of the way, I decide to give myself the gift of writing more of my book. Knowing my boss will be off my back for once helps me to concentrate on what I really want to do: writing my romance novel.

  I find it amazing that in a big company like Blackwell Industries, I can work at this for one or two hours a day and no one blinks an eye. On the other hand, my coworker Ed goes on fantasy football websites for probably the same amount of time during the day. So what difference does it make if I write?

  I stay later, past seven, writing all the while. All of a sudden, it’s eight p.m., the air conditioning in the building shuts off, and I realize I’m totally, completely alone in the building. I look at the calendar--September seventeenth.

  My father passed away on the seventeenth of June--three months ago to the date. I wonder what he’d make of all this, me working at a company like Blackwell Industries. His dream was always for one of us to take over his farm, but I just don’t know if it’s in the cards.

  I finish writing a scene where Lacy and her boss Zane finally kiss. She leans int
o him after a meeting, and he grabs her up against the wall and makes out with her.

  Damn. I could use a make out session right about now. And plus, I’m extra worked up from writing this scene.

  I decide that rather than go directly home, I want to make use of this pent-up energy and work out using the building gym.

  When I arrive to the fifth-floor workout room, the lights are off and the gym is completely empty. No one is on the treadmills, on the weights, or even in the hardwood room for abs and biking. I change into my yoga pants and a tank top, run a few minutes to warm up, then do a few arm exercises. There’s a wall mirror, and I check myself out in it.

  I want to get a bigger ass--one of those ‘Instagram asses’ like the girl Sebastian was with in the picture Crystal showed me.

  I giggle. ‘Instagram ass.’ I’ll definitely put that term in the book.

  I pull up YouTube and look at some butt workout videos. Apparently, squats and deadlifts are the thing to do. I chide myself for not remembering that from my high school soccer practices.

  I decide to have some fun with it. I throw some music on my phone, blasting Fifth Harmony as loud as I can through my speaker. I put just a little bit of weight on the bar, and do some squats.

  After a couple of sets, I change up the music and throw on a little “Blurred Lines.”

  I watch the music video for a minute on my phone, and I can’t help it. I start dancing a little bit around the gym like the actress in the music video. Then I do some squats and some deadlifts to the beat, being extremely silly, and not even really knowing why.

  I smile to myself, thinking how this is kind of me and Sebastian’s song. How blurred are our lines?

  I wouldn’t mind blurring them a little more. Sebastian is too classy for that, though. I’m pretty darn sure.

  As the song is coming to an end, I freeze, thinking I hear something or someone else in the gym. I spin around, but don’t see a thing.

  My endorphins must be humming, or maybe it’s the dancing I was doing. I head back into the ladies’ locker room to take a shower, since I’m super sweaty. My good vibes are interrupted when I turn the shower on and it fizzles out quickly.

 

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